If Twilight Was a Bit More Honest
by North American Scum
Summary: This is a slight reworking of the first book of the "Twilight Saga" without all the purple prose, sickening Edward worship, and general bullcrap.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I do have some love for Twilight, but sometimes that series seriously just made me grind my teeth. So I just need to let it out through some half assed snark. I'm also typing this whilst wearing fake nails so there will probably some typos that I manage to miss, so if you spot one just give me a little metaphorical slap upside the head please. Actually, I just want any kind of review.**

**Disclaimer: I'm might be violating the hell out of copy right, so my apologies to Stephanie Meyer.**

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I was in the being driven to the airport by my mother, whilst wearing an outfit that I describe in detail. My creative writing teacher always told me to engage my readers and I figure that nothing ensnares my target audience of squealing teenage girls quite like clothing.

In the small town of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near constant cover of clouds. Among its distinctive traits are that it supposedly rains there more than any other town in the US and is easily described with morose adjectives in the passive voice. It was also the same town I had been compelled to spend a month in every summer until I was fourteen, until I realized I could get my way like behaving like a massive bitch. Unfortunately for my dad (whom I refer to as Charlie, possibly to illustrate how much difficulty I have forming normal human relationships), he still needed to drag my whiny ass to California for two weeks.

It was to forks that I not exiled myself- an action I took with great horror. I think this possibly qualifies me for some kind of living martyrdom.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous sprawling city. Take note of this, because it is the last time I say I am fond of anything but vampires.

"Steph- I mean Bella" my mom said to me- the last of a thousand times- before I got on the plane "You don't have to do this".

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines (for I am young and beautiful and have nothing of the sort). How could I leave my loving, erratic, hare-brained mother to fend for her self? I was the adult in our relationship, which I am not resentful at all about, nor does it really effect me in anyway except I'll probably ace family and consumer sciences, since I already know how to take care of a home. Of course now she had Phil, so he would probably keep her shit together.

I lied to my mom that I wanted to go. I'd always been a bad liar. This almost sounds like a flaw until you realize that it just means that I'm honest

Now with all this stuff about her new boyfriend and how I really didn't want to go to Forks you might think that Phil was abusing me, or really that there's any other reason I'm going at all, besides the fact that I'm selfless. Stop thinking that now.

After a semi-emotional farewell to my mother I get on a four flight from Phoenix to Seattle another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back to Forks. These flights probably do not take that length of time, and they may not even exist, but, seriously, why the hell would I bother to research that?

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him. This has nothing to do with the fact that he is my _father_. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car. By doing this he demonstrates far more regard for others than I ever will.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose (I just got a shiny new thesaurus!). He also thought I was crazy for moving here, seeing as I've whined about Forks at every chance I've gotten.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I'd already said my goodbye to the sun, during that first moment of pathetic vampire "symbolism" in the book. Don't worry, the next one is more cringe inducing.

Charlie picked me up in the police cruiser. My main motivation behind wanting to buy a car was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Red and blue totally clash, so I absolutely just couldn't ride in that car, instead of just sucking it up and thanking my dad for wasting gas on me.

It turned out my dad had bought me an old truck from his friend Billy, who is now wheelchair-bound. Before accepting the car, I first had to interrogate my father about its quality.

"When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties –or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly, rather than tell me off for being an ungrateful little brat.

I finally just take the goddamn thing, and then we talk about the weather. I use this as another opportunity to once again point out that Forks is a yucky place.

When I see the truck, I actually like it, but then use this happiness as just another way to make it sink in that tomorrow would be simply horrid.

I lug all my stuff upstairs. It must have been some serious lugging, because it only took one trip to get all the crap I would need up to my room in one trip. My room has the same décor as it did when I was a child, plus dial up internet. I surprisingly don't whine about these things, because I have bigger and better things to complain about, like the fact that I have to share a bathroom. Apparently, at home, I had my own bathroom that no one else was aloud to so much as step foot in.

One of the best things about Charlie is that he doesn't hover. My frighteningly anti-social tendencies were already starting to rear their ugly head. By nighttime I would be crying my eyes out. See, I'm the only teenager on earth who has ever had to switch to a school where they don't know anyone.

I was insecure about going to school because I don't look like a girl from Phoenix should, as if anyone has any preconceived notions about that anyway. I then describe myself as looking remarkably like my author in one of the most ham-fisted attempts at "show don't tell" to ever grace literature. I honest to god describe myself as being slender but soft. If I were a guy you might think I have erectile dysfunction. By the way, I am pale. It's very important that you get that through your head, for some reason.

I didn't sleep well that night, despite that fact that I probably wasn't being watched by my vampire stal- er, lover yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, I'm surprised this actually got some decent reviews. I had already gotten my flame-retardant suit dry cleaned and everything. **

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When I woke up it was ugly out, just like it is for the majority of this story, except for literally one day. They probably have monster slugs in Forks.

Breakfast with Charlie was quiet, because he has no interest in absolutely anything but "the game". At least he wished me good luck, but that did nothing to permeate my pessimism. I just knew nothing good ever happens to me.

Before I left I looked around the kitchen, describing it in minute detail. I mention that there is a picture of my mom and Charlie getting married in Las Vegas. Unfortunately, I do not clarify if the minister was dressed up as Elvis. My school pictures are near them, all of which are ugly, because I think I'm unattractive. No one else on earth agrees with me though.

I realized Charlie was still in love with my mother. Seeing as how I mentioned how alike we are earlier, this probably doesn't sit very well among those with more Freudian thought patterns.

I didn't want to be too early to school, so that people wouldn't have any more chance to gaze upon me than absolutely necessary, but I couldn't stay in the house any longer. I donned my jacket, which had the feel of a biohazard suit. Someone unkind may suggest this is because I myself am a biohazard.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door and locked up. Despite the fact that I locked up, any would-be thieves would have no trouble getting into my house, because I just blabbed it all over the place that my spare key is under the eaves. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted. I was in a hurry to get out of the rain. I call it misty wet, but it would seriously just be better to call it rain.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. I give no reason why the inside of the truck would be anything other than dry. Either Billy or Charlie had taken the time to clean it out. If they knew how I treat them later on they probably wouldn't even have bothered.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school, only the sign, which declared it was Forks High School made me stop. When there is a clearly written sign next to a building, it is certainly not obvious what it is.

I parked in front of the first building, which had as small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits. The lack of other people is a far better indicator of the forbidden than a barbed wire fence or guard dogs.

When I get inside the office I decide to complain about how warm it is and the fact that I feel overdressed rather than the orange flecked carpet that can't possibly be anything but hideous.

A red haired woman looked up "Can I help you?"

"I'm Isabella Swan" I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light in her eyes. This is obviously because I'm such hot shit, not because someone who works at a school might have been told there was going to be a new student.

She is very nice to me, giving me a map, highlighting the best route to each one of my classes, and basically acting as much like a saint as a likely to be overworked secretary can. I am not truly thankful for this, and instead give her a fake smile.

I went back to my truck and drove around the school following the line of traffic. Surprisingly, I don't take out any of the little buildings or anything, since I'm so endearingly klutzy. I was glad to see that my car fit in here, unlike in Phoenix. Everyone in Phoenix was richer than me. Pity me.

I tried to memorize the map, so that I wouldn't have to hold it in front of my face all day like a dork. If you are reading this out loud please note that the word "dork" should be said in the same tone that a germophobe would use to say the words "staph infection".

I nearly hyperventilated when as I approached the door to my first class. One could argue that if I actually did hyperventilate it would make for a wildly funny story. I notice other hanging up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copy them, even though I'm a special little snowflake who rarely does what others do. The other girls I saw were also pale. I'm thinking this might be because the sun is something only spoken of in legends in Forks.

I took the slip up to the teacher; a tall balding man who I reveal is named Mr. Mason in the most roundabout way possible. He gawked at my name. Apparently, most of the wave of kids whose parents gave them _special_ names had not yet reached the 11th grade. I flushed a deeply unflattering shade of tomato red.

At least he didn't introduce me to my classmates. I didn't want to meet them or make any friends. I just wanted to behave like a total sociopath.

I looked at the teacher's reading list, which included things I've read before. For someone who supposedly enjoys literature, I'm awfully eager to cheat by having my mother send me my old essays.

I already wasn't listening, when the bell rang, which was also unpleasant, just like the teacher's voice.

A boy came up to me, whose appearance I describe in the most unpleasant way possible.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type, which despite my supposed intelligence I deeply resent.

"Bella," I correct, rather than greeting him, or asking his name. Everyone within a three-seat range turned to look at me. I assume this is because I'm awesome, rather than wonder if I have something wrong with my face, or have forgotten to wear pants or something.

We then have a half-assed conversation with him being nice and I acting as rude as I possibly can without him turning and walking away. People tried to listen in, or so I assume. At least I readily introduce the possibility that I'm just a paranoid freak. I also make a stupid, needlessly facetious crack, which he doesn't laugh at. I assume this is because he has no sense of humor, not because it wasn't funny.

When he gets to my next class, he said "Well, good luck," This is one of the few times someone just says something rather than "wondering", "surmising" or "pontificating".

I bitch about the rest of my morning just as much as I did about the beginning. I begin to recognize people who were in several of my classes. I behave condescendingly to them.

A tiny girl, shorter than my 5'4" inches (the same height as Stephanie Meyer methinks) tried to talk to me about teachers and classes, I don't listen and don't even try to remember her name.

Despite this, she invites me to sit at a table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them, but all the girls at the table were immediately jealous of me, and all the guys wanted to get in my pants. It's not possible that they were just friendly.

It was sitting there, pretending to make conversation, but really just acting like a self-absorbed bitch, that I saw _them_.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Yeah, it's been a while since I've done some writing for this, but somehow I got all caught up in that crazy little thang called having a productive life.**

**Disclaimer: My apologies to those whom I steal stuff from, namely the unfortunately neither late, nor particularly great Mrs. Meyer.**

They were sitting at a table neither talking nor eating, though they did not appear to be models for Marc Jacob's runway show. They weren't staring at me either, which was weird because, after all, staring at me is what everyone lives for. This made it safe for me to take a big, long, stalker-like stare atThem.

One of the three boys was big. No, not in that way, more like a bodybuilder or Christian Bale in Batman. One was taller, leaner (though still muscled, god forbid) and honey blond. Or should I say _hunny _blond *eyebrow wiggle*. The third was lanky and more boyish looking than the others, who looked like they could be in college or even teachers at the school. You'll be thankful to know that, despite clearly having daddy issues, I was holding a torch for the boyish one, who at least looks remotely my age.

The tall girl was statuesque and not redundant in any way. She had a beautiful figure and a gorgeous face, but this is not that kind of story unfortunately. Her hair was golden with a gentle wave, much like those British royals give whilst exiting limousines. The other was the exact opposite, which might make you think she was short, fat, ugly and had buck teeth. Rather, she was pixie-like (which should be hyphenated, dammit) with small features and, fittingly, a pixie haircut.

And yet they were all the same. All of them were chalky, pale white, paler than me, the albino who just cannot let a shitty joke drop. They all had very dark eyes, despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark circles under their eyes, as if they were recovering from sleepless nights, a broken nose, or a six day tequila bender.

Although that makes them sound like the premise for a bad horror movie with a low makeup budget, I was staring not in fright, but in reverence at their inhuman beauty. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine, like Undead, Anorexic Junkies Weekly.

Apparently sharing my antisocial and slightly psychopathic tendencies, they were all looking away. Not into the sunset, or at the dawning of a new age, but away from each other, me, everything. No, I will not clarify how they managed to look away from absolutely everything. As I stared, openmouthed and drooling, the small girl stood up and walked to go waste some food with a graceful lope that belonged on the runway. I looked on in amazement, having never seen a human walk from point A to point B without tripping, breaking something, or being distracted by something shiny. The others remained sitting there, unchanging.

"Who are they" I asked the girl whose name I was too dismissive to learn from my Spanish class.

She looked up to see who I meant, though she possibly already knew who I was talking about, and suddenly the boyish one, who I describe with five times as many adjectives as would be required, glanced at my neighbor, then fixed his eyes on me with a predatory gleam.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, what with my functional immobility and everything, like a sixth grader who is ogling their crush and is afraid of being caught.

My neighbor, whose name it can be assumed is not Mr. Rodgers, although that would improve this story vastly, gave a little giggle, joining my festival of low level stalking.

"That's Edward and Emmet Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife," she said under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was also a dirty rotten food waster picking a bagel to pieces with his long pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, though the others were looking away, so he may have been talking to them or himself. It was really a tossup.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought, remembering that virtually no one in the past eighty years had been named Edward. But maybe that was in vogue here- small town names. Although my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly normal name, and small town names are usually things like Bubba or Li'l Sissy.

"They are… very nice-looking," I said, struggling to subdue my quivering loins.

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though, not just together, together, together, I mean, like _together_," she punctuated the last together by bringing her outstretched hands together with a large clap "Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice. And they live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town I thought critically, being a big fan of pseudo incest myself.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked "They don't look related…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, like in his thirties or something, which I guess is actually like really old, I mean, you know, compared to us, but in ratio or whatever, not that much older than the kids- er teenagers. But whatever, they're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister though, twins, I mean they're not identical or whatever though- the blondes- and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children"

"They are now, they're both eighteen, I mean which probably isn't old either, but you can vote and go to war and stuff, so I guess it's kind of old. Mrs. Cullen's their aunt or something"

"That's really nice of Dr. Cullen to take care of all those kids, when they're so young and everything" I swooned, wondering how strict the local laws regarding statutory rape were.

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly. I got the impression that she disliked the siblings Cullen, so I immediately reverted back to elementary school, assuming the explaination was jealousy.

Throughout the conversation my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat, since there was no way I could be expected to concentrate solely on an exchange with one of the mundanes. They continued to behave as if they had missed a few doses of their Prozac.

I continued with questioning which would make any person with a significant amount of brain cells raise their eyebrows at the inordinate amount of interest I took in the Cullens. Though, of course, I barely listened to the girl's answers.

As I gazed wistfully at the Cullens, particuarlly ol' bronze hair, I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because although they were dreadfully attractive their lives seemed to be unimaginably difficult (even more difficult than orphans without shoes who live in cardboard boxes in Somalia) and relief because at least I wasn't the pitiable one.

Deigning to speak to the peasant at my right, I asked Jessica what the boy with the reddish brown hair was called.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him. Or maybe he's celibate or something. You know, wanting to be a priest, but I'm thinking it's just arrogance." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. Thank goodness it was only the sour grapes, not the "bitter cranberries" or the "kiwis that may be slightly off, but they might taste funny because I just brushed my teeth". Lord knows what we'd have done then.

A few more minutes later, the four of them left the table together. They were all noticeably graceful, although that may have only seemed to be the case because I couldn't walk more than a few feet without sustaining life-threatening injuries.

I left lunch shortly thereafter with an acquaintance who, sensing my superior place, reminded me that her name was Angela. We walked to Biology together, as I plotted my upcoming obsession with Edward Cullen.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I take so freaking long to update this story. I have no idea why, other than it requires me to read Twilight, but I feel quite guilty about it.**

**:: secretly knows the reason is because she's been too busy defiling Disney boys with slash::**

**Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer, I dare you to sue me.**

The walk to Biology two was completely silent, for Angela was too frightened to speak to me in my Edward Cullen induced manic state.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table, of the sort that you can actually draw graffiti on with nothing but an eraser if you are so inclined. I would never do that though, because I am not like the other kids; I spend all of my time thinking deep thoughts, not vandalizing school property with scribbled curses and shoddily drawn penises.

The sight of Edward Cullen, whom I recognized by his unusually bronze hair, pulled me out of my musings. He was sitting next to a single open seat. That is a very small, yet mind numbingly obvious attempt at foreshadowing something that happens in maybe three minutes tops.

As I walked down the aisle, knocking a particularly small, bespectacled sophomore to the ground because of my extreme clumsiness, I eyed Edward Cullen in the way that a priest might eye a playground full of young alter boys. Just as I passed, still giving him the eye, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. Well, he is a teenage boy after all.

But then something happened, something that could not be explained by raging hormones or my devastating sexiness: he stared at me with the strangest expression on his face. It was hostile, furious, and filled with a burning chagrin. This expression was extremely bizarre to me because at no point in my 17 years had anyone displayed the slightest displeasure with me.

And his eyes were black- as black as a crow that had just been coal mining driving through the skies of Harlem just before dawn.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, a certain author may have suggested that he wanted us to _get along_, but I assure you, not in a creepy way. I mean, it's just a teacher lusting after an underage student.

Of course, as I so cleverly implied earlier I was forced to sit next to the godly, Edward Cullen.

As soon as I took my seat I noticed the slightest change in his posture, the slope of which I had carefully diagramed in my head during lunch- he was now leaning slightly away from me. In fact, so far away from me that it looked like he was in that uncomfortable position that sometimes occurs when too many people are trying to fit on a bench and one ends up with half of their butt floating in thin air. Yeah, like that.

Confused about his behavior, I took the time inconspicuously sniff my hair, which smelled of strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. Remember this detail as it is extremely important later! Your life depends on this answer, whole empires; worlds even have fallen due to people not remembering this answer, in fact, the fact that my hair smells has replaced 42 as the answer to life the universe and everything!

Just kidding! I only included that fact because I really want this book to reach at least four hundred pages.

Embarrassed and ashamed of this rejection by a total stranger who should mean nothing to me, at least at this point, I allowed my hair to fall into a curtain of despair between us and tried to pay attention to the teacher. Unfortunately we were learning about cellular anatomy, which I had already studied. Obviously, having already studied a subject is a true sign of intelligence.

I couldn't stop myself from occasionally peeking through my screen of hair at the strange boy next to me. He had never relaxed from the stiff position next to me; some people might even suggest that he should have had blue balls by now. The fest of him was tense too, his fists, his legs, his eyeballs with iris' of purest black and whites as pale as snow.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close of because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It was the latter; in fact, the entire quality of my future life hinged on his fist loosening. Unfortunately for me, it never did. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? Are rhetorical questions an effective literary technique?

His rude behavior couldn't have had anything to do with me, anyway. He didn't know me from Eve. After all, everyone goes around reversing the gender of known idioms willy-nilly, rendering them incredibly confusing.

I risked one more glance at him and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. His stare was so vicious that it was like he had awesome laser vision or the unfortunate superpower of shooting razorblades from his pupils.

Thankfully, the bell rang loudly, causing me to jump right out of my seat and flounder around on the floor, unable to get up due to my general physical ineptness.

However, my desperate struggle did not stop me from having thought more suited someone who had not yet graduated the third grade.

He was so mean. It wasn't fair. I thought I was going to cry because he was just a bit meanie-weanie.

"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled up into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. Keep this description in mind, because it's the last time I describe anyone as attractive who's initials aren't EC.

I was nice to him, of course, since he was good looking which is the only reason to be nice to anyone, so we got to talking. We started to gym where we were both heading, him chattering all the way, which I hate, unless it's coming from a cute guy.

When we got to gym, I mentioned that Forks was my own personal hell. It had never-ending physical torture and mental anguish. Or maybe just four mandatory years of P.E. I couldn't remember which.

Mike was still talking although I wasn't really listening. "So, you stab Cullen with a pencil or something, I've never seen him act like that."

So it was true. I was a smelly, ugly, socially inept, fat, klutzy, disgusting nerd and Edward Cullen could not stand the thought of me. For the entire gym class I dwelled on this, which made it all the more devastating when I saw him in the office, talking to the secretary.

But this was no ordinary student/secretary conversation on jelly doughnuts or AP Calculus or something. This was a conversation focused on sabotaging me!

I could see him in there looking charmingly at the secretary, flashing his crooked grin, and leaning forward to grant her a tantalizing glimpse at his man-boobs. Plus, I could overhear him asking for a switch in biology class!

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, the secretary refused, and he stormed out. Still floored from the rejection of a total stranger, I staggered into the office.

"So, how'd your day go," she asked maternally, although not like my mother who doesn't give to shits about how my day went and is probably off purchasing smelling salts or something.

I could not give her a positive answer, for my day, nay my life had just been ruined by Edward Cullen's cruel treatment of me.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Holy shit, it's the zombie Twilight parody, back from the dead to wreak havoc once again!**

**And, in response to certain reviews, yes, I am doing this maybe 48% to annoy people and the rest to make them laugh. **

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

Scratch that, I got this drivel confused with a literary masterpiece for a moment. What I actually mean to say was a borderline insulting rip off of that lovely opener.

*ahem* The next day was better… and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, but I was already getting some 2X4s for the arc. It was easier because I knew what to expect that day. Before attending a day at the school, I had assumed it would be populated by tentacle sporting apes that spoke Swahili and had a strong focus hockey and fencing as sports.

Mike came to sit by me and English and, in a great act of rudeness and presumption walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that was flattering. Clearly, he was glaring in tooth-gnashing jealously at Mike's proximity with me. Either that or he thinks all guys who spike their hair are douches. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric (who has momentarily escaped the patronizing epithet Chess Club Eric), Jessica and several other people whose names and faces had been sucked into the black hole that apparently occupies my skull. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it. Yes, having people being friendly and welcoming is comparable to a watery grave.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the super powered wind that echoed around the house, somehow managing to be louder than the bustling sounds of Phoenix. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball and the one time I didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it. And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't there at all. So there, people who though my day sounded like a picnic compared to others who have had to go through untold mental, emotional and physical torments- _**I had to go a day without seeing the guy I wanted to bone!**_

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Which was ridiculous, I mean it's not like he could read my mind or anything (FORESHADOWING FORESHADOWING FORESHADOWING). Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. Which wouldn't be a sign of dangerous psychopathic tendencies, because after all, he wasn't doing anything more than acting a bit standoffish, was he. Thankfully, I didn't have the balls to pull it off. Come to think of it, maybe my lack of balls was why Edward didn't want to fuck my brains out. He does seem about as straight as a watermelon, after all.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica, trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely- I saw that his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table and he was not with them. Imagine that- a guy being absent from school for one day and not surgically attached to his siblings! What this world is coming to…

Mike intercepted up, possibly by tackling someone and grabbing us out of the air, I'm not quite sure, and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated by the attention and her friends quietly joined us. But as a tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply ignore me when he came. I do have a very low level of confidence in my skills in bed.

He didn't come (it seems my coital insecurities are not unfounded), and as time passed I grew more and more tense, presumably ignoring those who were trying to engage me in polite conversation. Miss Manners would probably like to perform unspeakable atrocities on me by now.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch he still hadn't showed, nor had my editor. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever (though, mercifully not the quality of breath that smells of rancid bacon bits), walked faithfully by my side to class.

I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there either, which makes him sound like some kind of horrific movie monster that can appear anywhere at will. I exhaled and went to my seat. Because if I had not informed you that I exhaled, readers would assume that I simply continued to hold my breath until I turned blue and died. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. I was not responding because I possessed the communication skills of modern day Ozzie Osbourne.

It looked like I was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn't be easy. Perhaps I could hide him in the pipes, like Jeffery Dahmer did with his victims? Maybe that could work, seeing as my dad regards any and all household chores as "women's work" and probably hasn't seen the grease trap since 1975.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent; it allowed me to spread out leisurely over the desk, as you do. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. In a twist, I admit the stunning narcissism of my statement, but it turns out that I was right anyway, like the world's most self absorbed oracle.

When the school day was finally done and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident I changed back into my street clothes. I have an extremely rare condition that causes me to blush for hours over minor incidents that no one but me gives a rat's ass about anyway. I hurried from the girl's locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded by retriever friend for the moment. Turns out all those evasion and concealing classes at the academy paid off.

I then got into my Mesozoic truck and drove home to cook dinner for my father. Because it is apparently 1902, plus fancy cars.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Yeah, I'm writing this again, and I'll probably start updating more often since I'm out of school. Although I did manage to loose my copy of Twilight and now have to get a pdf. of it. Also, I'm considering doing the highlights of this book, and then moving on to Breaking Dawn, because that book was so bugfuck insane that I just have to do it. Thoughts?**

"**Disclamor"(snerk): Not mine, blahblahblah, don't sue blahblahblah, shameless rip off blahblahblah. **

When I got home, after going food shopping, cooking dinner, cleaning the toilets with a toothbrush and remembering not to speak unless spoken to, I decided to check my e-mail. I had three messages, all of them from my mother. I certainly was the little popularity queen.

Bella, my mom had written…

"Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining. I miss you already? I forgot to eat for a few days because you weren't here to remind me, but thankfully Phil reminded me upon the sight of my shaking and emaciated form huddled in a corner. I'm almost done packing for Florida."

I sighed- it was so typical for her to get to eat, normally I had to make airplane noises and everything to get her to devourer even a morsel- and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first one.

"Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for, vampires to appear or something?"

The last was from this morning

"Isabella, If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 P.M. today, I'm calling Charlie. And the police. And SWAT. And the Coast Guard. And Captain Hammer."

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mother was well known for jumping the gun, or well, the hammer.

I decided to write back.

"Mom, Calm down. I'm writing right now. I really don't see why you would expect a daughter to write back to her mother, as was requested of her within a reasonable time frame, just so you could know that my plane didn't crash or I wasn't eaten by a bear or something. Don't do anything rash"

I sent that, and began to write another e-mail, like a girl desperately contacting a date fifty seven times in a row while the unsuspecting suitor cowers in fear.

"Mom, Everything is great. Of course it's raining, what are you, stupid? I was waiting for something to write about. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch and are also the bane of my very existence. Charlie brought me a truck, can you believe it? It's old and sounds like a dinosaur coming down the street, but its adequate, I guess. I miss you too, I'll write again soon, I guess. Relax. Breathe.- Bella"

I had to remind her to breathe because sometimes she forgets that too.

After that I had decided to read Wuthering Heights- the novel we were currently studying in English- again, just for fun. It's really a lot of fun to read about people who are nearly as completely devoid of a moral compass as I am. However, that was when Charlie came home and I had to rush downstairs to make dinner before I got the belt again.

"Bella?" my dad called out when he heard me walking down the stairs. In my boundless wit and sarcasm I thought "Who else?"

As much of a snarky little bastard I am, I didn't have the balls to say that, and instead welcomed him home.

"What's for dinner," he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook and her experiments weren't always edible. Like the time she accidentally added detergent powder to the macaroni and cheese. Silly little things like that.

"Steak and Potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.

Soon Charlie began to feel awkward just standing there as I slaved away, so he excused himself to go watch TV in the living room. How could he be expected to help? I mean, he is a man after all.

When the food was ready I took it out of the oven. I put it on plates. Charlie entered the kitchen. Charlie ate my food. Charlie and I stared at each other in silence. Now, wasn't that little scene written with so much color and figurative language? Lovely.

Finally, Charlie opened his gaping maw to speak, half chewed bits of meat and potato falling to his plate. "So how did you like school? Did you make any friends?"

Personally, I though he way prying. What kind of father is concerned about how his daughter if faring at her new school? But I told him about the kids I met "Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." Of course, it wasn't their kindness that truly mattered; it was the _single _kid who wasn't nice.

"That must be Mike Newton," my dad replied "I have a file on him. From the nights I've spent gazing in his windows," he paused "don't worry that's normal around here, I've gathered that his dad owns a sporting goods store and makes a good living."

I couldn't keep my obsession at bay for much longer, and couldn't keep myself from asking "Do you know about the Cullen family?"

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure, Dr. Cullen's a great man."

"The kids, well them, they er, um… they're _weird_"

To my surprise he looked angry, and I cringed. If he were to teach me my place now, it would be with a gun belt! Thankfully, however he merely launched into a tirade.

"Dr. Cullen is a great man. He could probably get a job at any hospital in the world. He's an asset to the community and his children are shining paragons of morality. People must only think they're strange because they're jealous. It couldn't possibly be because they're pale, antisocial freaks who have staring problems and are obviously all in incestuous relationships!"

I quickly backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added.

"You should see the doctor," Charlie chuckled."It's a good thing he's married. A lot of the nurses have a hard time concentrating on their work when he's around. But don't think that any of these nurses are men because men only watch football and have **man** jobs and even if we didn't, WE DON'T HAVE GAYS IN FORKS!"

And on that note, he went to go sit his fat ass down in front of the TV again and I dutifully did my chores, as a woman should. I could feel a tradition in the making.

The rest of the week was just as uneventful . By Friday I could recognize all the students and made a point of staring at them daily. And people were only throwing the ball at me in gym when they _wanted_ me to break a bone. And more importantly, Edward, the main source of plot in this book, was, tellingly, no where to be found.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: It's been an ungodly long amount of time since I've even looked at this thing, but it's baaaaack. I really think it's the DVD release of New Moon that pushed me into continuing this because that movie was both terrible and unbelievably long (my boyfriend wanted me to see it with him, and yes, I am sure he is straight).**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, it's probably plagiarism. The nice thing is that, because it's Stephanie Meyer, I don't give a shit.**

**

* * *

  
**

As I said, I hadn't seen my beloved Edward for quite some time, and it was beginning to chagrinulate me. Every day, I glanced around the Biology room hoping to see his messy mop of hair or his sparkling, golden eyes (not his whole body though, that'd be weird). Every day I would jump to my feet, knocking chili across the carefully planned outfits of my tablemates, wishing for a glimpse of him.

Oddly despite my obsession, I was finally able to relax in his absence. To focus on another thing I loathed: the possibility of going on an enjoyable trip to La Push Ocean Park with Mike and the rest of my completely interchangeable friends, namely the threat that I may be forced to have fun. Sometimes you may see a person describe themselves as fun loving- perhaps while soliciting teenage boys for sordid activities, if your name happens to be Carlisle- and thought to yourself "Come off, everyone loves fun!" Well, I didn't. I hated fun.

Besides, beaches were supposed to be hot and dry. They were supposed to have sparkling white sand and turquoise waves, perfect for surfing. They were supposed to have luscious, Swedish male models serving cocktails and be in countries with sketchy laws about underage drinking. Still I agreed to go, more out of politeness than anything.

By Friday, I was comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school to join a motorcycle gang that lorded over the entire West coast with an iron fist, zooming down the interstate and wearing matching leather jackets that they were able to print their name on for a reasonable price.

The rest of the week was uneventful and I was able to enjoy a relaxing weekend of doing homework, lying to my loving kin, and cleaning house while Charlie went out to mack drunkenly on waitresses… er, work. Charlie only had to hit me once because I missed one of the beer cans he threw behind the couch while I was cleaning the living room.

I even got the chance to go to the library, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't even check anything out. All they had was a bunch of stuff by old dead guys without any roman at all and stupid names like Milton, Orwell, Dostoevsky, and even some guy named King. What a hack.

I had to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered what kind of gas mileage the truck got and grinned sickly at the thought of soiling the earth.

* * *

People greeted me in the parking lot on Monday morning. I still hadn't bothered to learn their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone, even as I cursed them softly under my breath.

It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. Seriously, it was happy (my mommy told me that rain is the tears of angels). In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on _Wuthering Heights_. Gosh, Heathcliff is so dreamy with his emotional abuse and generally nasty behavior.

When we walked out of class the air was full of swirling bits of white.

"Wow," Mike said, allowing a small stream drool to drip out of his open mouth, down the contours of his neck and disappear down the neck of his parka. "It's snowing!" Living on the Olympic Peninsula, he had never seen snow before, of course.

"Ew." There went my good day, splattered against the wall like brains at a barbeque joint hosted by Pedro Lopez and Jeffery Dahmer.

He looked surprised "Don't you like snow?"

"No. That means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes- you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips." It was a little known fact that despite being a well read genius I was also so idiotic that it's a mystery how I don't drown myself in my breakfast cereal.

Mike laughed, before a sticky white substance hit him in the head. It was snow. Instantly, Mike turned around to run after the culprit, Eric, and began beating him with gusto that I thought was reserved for riot police in fascist countries. I just scurried inside.

Throughout the morning everyone nattered about the snow; apparently, it was the worst snowfall of the year. I just kept my mouth shut, even though I wanted to go on a five hour rant, with accompanying PowerPoint presentation about how snow has been responsible for everything from the Crusades to global warming.

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself. Perhaps it was the glint of madness in my eye.

When we arrived in the cafeteria I glanced to the table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at that table. This was a clear violation of school safety code!

No, I actually froze because Edward Cullen was there in all his anemic glory.

Jessica pulled on my arm as everyone else at my table rolled their eyes and groaned quietly in despair. "Hello? Bella? Are you okay?"

I looked down. My ears were hot, as was the rest of me, particularly my slender hips and shapely bum. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's wrong with Bella?" Mike asked Jessica, too polite to address me directly.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just have a taco salad, two hamburgers, a donut, three pieces of chicken, and that small bowel of caviar over there please." It was important to keep my slim figure.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick." I said, my eyes still on the floor.

After picking my eyes up and popping them back into their sockets with a soft squelch, I waited for the rest of them to get their food. Unfortunately, my eyes quickly dropped back out, landing on my feet.

Once we got back to the table I sipped my soda slowly, as opposed to immediately guzzling the whole can as my peers shouted at me to chug. Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, if I was alright. It was just so odd that he was concerned about his friends.

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology to go smoke pot with the janitors again, like the coward I was.

I kept my head down, my chin touching the table until it touched a suspiciously sticky spot, at which point I drew back a bit. None of them were looking this way.

They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair saturated with snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair at them. The five looked like people out of an Abercrombie add- beautiful and ready to play pantsless rugby at a moment's notice.

But aside from the laughter and playfulness there was something different about him that I couldn't quite pinpoint. His skin was less pale, I decided- maybe he'd gotten a gift certificate to Mystic Tan- the dark circles under his eyes, a trophy from his obvious heroin addiction, were fading. But there was something more, I pondered, trying to isolate the change.

"Bella, what are you staring at?" Jessica intruded, not at all like how I was intruding on a happy group of friends by staring creepily at them as they tried to enjoy themselves. Her eyes followed my intense stare, right to Edward Cullen's crotch.

At that precise moment, right down to the picosecond, his eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I dropped my head, letting my hair fall down to conceal my face, causing me to look uncannily like Cousin Itt. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look as harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time I'd seen him. He merely looked unsatisfied in some way. This might have something to do that he'd spent more than a hundred years being a virgin.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you." Jessica giggled as she spackled my ear canal with saliva.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I had to ask.

"No," she said "Should he be? I mean besides the fact that you're dismissive of everyone, think you're more intelligent than you are and wear disgusting strawberry scented shampoo."

I let that slide. "I don't think he liked me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on the table. I was tired of carrying it anyway.

"The Cullens don't like anybody. Well, they're too rich to like anybody. But he's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at him," I hissed.

She snickered, but looked away. A good thing too, as I was contemplating violence if she didn't comply. How dare my kind of friends look at someone without my permission!

For the rest of lunch I very carefully kept my eyes on my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I made with myself. Since he didn't look angry I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips, balance beam routines and whatever-it-is-you-do-on-a-pummel-horses.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual- he seemed to popular a target for snowball snipes and sniper snipers, the kind that wear black trench coats- but when we went to the door, rain had washed away all the snow. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased that my dark sacrifices to the gods of weather had ruined everyone else's fun.

Once insides the Biology classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing microscopes and stopping every so often to stare down the blouse of any particularly well endowed girls. The room buzzed with conversation, but I just idly doodled the name "Bella Cullen" on my notebook along with a lot of little hearts.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed closely on the pattern I was drawing. That is what my therapist told me to do whenever I thought furniture was moving on its own- just ignore it.

"Hello," said a quiet musical voice. Fuck. Now the voices were back.

I looked up, startled to find that the sounds had come from my golden eyed Adonis and was not, in fact, one of those voices that occasionally told me to do things like set cats on fire or cut Mrs. Crabtree down the block's breaks.

I gazed at his perfectly formed face, without any extra eyes or hare lips or anything. This was going to be an interesting class.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N and Disclaimer: ****I hadn't really planned to continue this, but I've been hit with the strong, sudden desire to make fun of Twilight, as of late. I assume this is covered over the parody clause of free use, but if it's not, I also assume that Stephanie Meyer isn't quite crazy enough to sue a teenage fanfiction writer. **

His dazzling face was friendly, his mouth hanging open with a thin thread of drool dripping from the corner, but his eyes were careful, staring disapprovingly at his mouth. "My name is Edward Cullen" he continued, after a short pause to flip his hair and allow me to admire him "You must be Bella Swan, whose name, for those of you too dense to realize, means beautiful swan." I wondered for a moment to whom he was addressing the last part, but the thought quickly overwhelmed my tiny mind.

My head was spinning. Had I been irrational when I assumed that a perfect stranger was consumed with hatred for me and spent the entirety of several days obsessing about it? I had to say something, but due to my limited experience with humans, I didn't know what to say.

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered. My parents always told me never to talk to a stranger, even if he knew my name, so I wanted to be sure.

He chuckled a soft, enchantingly patronizing laugh.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. This entire town has had nothing better to do than wait eagerly of the arrival of some nobody from Arizona."

I grimaced, showing all my teeth in a display of aggression.

"No," I persisted stupidly. Even I knew it was stupid, but I was powerless to resist. "I meant, why did you call me Bella?"

He seemed confused or at least displayed as passable of a facsimile as he could form with his granite features. To be honest, he looked more like someone suffering from severe intestinal difficulties, or perhaps like he had just stubbed his toe. "Do you prefer Isabella?"

"No, I like Bella," I said. "But I think that usele- I mean Charl- I mean my dad calls me Isabella behind my back. That's what everyone seems to know me as," I managed to drag myself through that sentence, feeling like an utter moron.

"Oh." He mercifully let it drop. I looked away awkwardly, doing my best to look dignified, or as dignified as one can look when they are so incompetent that walking across the room in heels is a death defying stunt.

Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. It was something about either mitosis, or creating new life with the use of cadavers, electricity, and prayers to the dark lord. I wasn't really paying attention.

"Get started," Banner commanded, his voice suddenly unnaturally deep and booming. He seemed to either have some sort of encounter with the previously mentioned dark lord, or he had been having fun with Sulfur Hexafluoride in the prep room.

"Ladies first, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile. I was struck by a surge of pity. It must be so hard to live with a facial deformity.

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent, thus functioning as the audience proxy in this book.

"No," I said flushing [my dreams of ever getting with this hot guy down the toilet]. "I'll go ahead."

I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab and I knew what I was looking for. It was just really important to make sure the electricity reaches the _heart_, not the brain.

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to flay the liver. His hand caught as he asked. His fingers were nearly as cold as that of the cadaver, like he's been holding them in a snowdrift before class. That wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us. Maybe this was that whole "sexual attraction" thing I'd heard so much about? Nah.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, feeling guilty about touching a lady outside of the confines of marriage.

We began to fall into something of a competition- who could sew the intestines together the best, who could place the kidneys the fastest- that sort of thing. He appeared to be winning. Holy frijoles, was this Cullen character good at doing science!

We were finished before anyone else was close. Look, I know it sounds bad, but you can't expect a guy to last that long his first time. I could see Mike and his partner "comparing slides" again and again.

This left me with nothing to do but try to not look at Edward… wait for it… unsuccessfully. I examined his face closely, paying careful attention to his impeccable bone structure, the charming length of his nose hairs and his eyeballs (they were such perfect spheres). Suddenly, I noticed something different.

"Did you get contacts!" I burst out, interrobang and all, loud enough to disturb students on the other side of the room.

"No," he said, puzzled. After all, who's the mind reader in this situation if not me?

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

He shrugged, and looked away moodily. I believe if he had long hair, he would have tossed it over one should dramatically.

I was quite sure that his golden eyes were lighter now than they were the last time I saw him. Or perhaps Forks was just making me even crazier, literally.

I looked down. His hands were clenched into tight fists, just about ready to give someone a well-deserved beating, Mark Trail style.

Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulder to glance at the completed lab, and then stared even more intently. It almost looked like he was looking down my shirt, hahaha. Weird.

"So, Edward, didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked, aware that a gentleman never directly addresses a lady in polite company. Anyway, a man can speak for them.

"Bella," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, she identified three of the five."

Mr. Banner looked at me, skeptical that someone who doesn't seem to be able to talk to people or even walk correctly could display such a level of competence. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said after a moment, stroking his mustache with a glint in his eye. "I guess it's god you two are lab partners." He mumbled something as he walked away that sounding suspiciously like "Women these days don't know their places."

After a moment of ringing silence, Edward opened his mouth to talk, to my eager anticipation. "So, it's too bad about the snow."

"Not really," I said flatly.

"You don't like the snow?" He said, though it wasn't really a question. More like a command, quietly forcing me not to like the snow.

"Or the wet."

I seem to have found a kindred spirit in Edward- he hated all that was right and good in the world too. We proceeded to have a deep riveting conversation about our pasts, baseballs, the stupid plebeians we were forced to live with, sweater vests, how much smarter were than everyone else and the unceasing misery of the world. This is the first conversation I'd ever had with a human where I didn't have to sneer at the person at least once. Well, kind of.

When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed swiftly and gracefully from the room, only pausing to hike up his pants and adjust his sweater vest once. Then Mike skipped quickly to my side, waving his arms flamboyantly every time he bounded off the ground. I pictured him with a wagging tail, the product of years of repressed furry fantasies.

"That was awful," he groaned, either out of frustration, or just from being so close to my hotness. "You're lucky you had Cullen as a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, drawing on the full power of my huffiness.

He blithely ignored that. "Cullen seemed friendly enough today," he commented. I tried to pull my raincoat over my head before realizing I had to unbutton it. Who designs these things anyway?

"Oh, I hope he'll be more than friendly," I said, nodding my head slowly as I formed finger guns.

"What?"

"Oh nothing."


End file.
